Her Foreign Affair (27 page)

Tempting. Very tempting, but part of the fun of New York, as Jordan had expounded only last week, was the nightlife. The excitement and glitter of Broadway.

“Think you’ll be up for it later tonight?”

“I could be dead as a stinking dodo and still have it up for you, darling. Just knowing you’re in the hotel makes me half hard.”

At dinner, Court drank a little too much, and mid-way through the first half of the show, his eyes closed. At least he didn’t snore, but he did startle awake when Randi poked him in the shoulder at intermission.

“I’m sorry, Court, but I’ve got a terrible headache. Do you mind if we skip out on the second half?”

It took him a moment to gather himself. “Headache you say?”

“Yes. I think I had a little too much wine, and the mix of perfumes is killing me. But if you mind too terribly…”

“No, no. If you’re not happy, we’ll go.”

They returned to the hotel, agreed on a bath in the enormous tub, but Court nodded off there, too.

“Come on, Mr. Excitement. I think our day is over.”

Mumbled apologies on his lips, he’d fallen asleep right after gathering her into his arms. Randi stared out the tall windows toward the night sky. What was it she liked about driven, ambitious men? How many nights had Wyatt fallen asleep on her? Morning had always been his best time, and more often than not, she’d gone along with him, faking a quick orgasm so they could get out of bed sooner. Was it like that for most men? Wake up fresh in the morning? She always woke up with her schedule for the day running through her head. Never a sexy thought, although mornings with Court were still fresh and new, and outlining daily tasks didn’t intrude until later.

Thursday morning they almost made love, but neither of them seemed to have the appetite for it. Court’s apologies didn’t bolster her mood one bit.

“I’ll make it up to you, darling. I know this isn’t what I promised you. You’ve been so very patient.” His kisses were sweet and edged with a hint of something Randi didn’t recognize. If pressed to identify it, she’d say guilt. The large bouquet of flowers at her place at the breakfast table pretty much nailed the lid on her depressed mood, and the memory of rumpled Martha crossed her mind only to be ruthlessly dismissed. Court felt guilty about falling asleep at the show. That was all. No need to make a big deal out of it.

“We should be completely finished by noon today,” Court said as he kissed her goodbye at the elevator. “It’s even possible I’ll be free after today. I swear I’ll make up for being a bore.”

“Court, it’s all right.” She used her most soothing voice. “I understand about business, really, I do.” Smoothing his shirt to avoid looking into his eyes, she patted his chest. This was one more facet of Court the businessman. The gap in their circumstances widened a few more inches. Not entirely different than the occasional instance with Wyatt, but on a far grander scale. With Court, this would be normal on any given day. Business first. He had too many people relying on him to let it take a back seat to his personal wishes.

“Well, I don’t. You’re an angel, Randi. See you at lunch.”

At lunch he had more apologies.

“There’s been a hang-up,” Court said. “Larry and I have to run out to a meeting. I honestly don’t know how long it will take. I’ll call when I know what’s happening.” The kiss he gave her had been quick and poorly aimed at her forehead.

“Are you going out this afternoon?” Martha asked once they were alone.

“No, I think I’ll stay in and do some catch up. I’ve neglected e-mail and my family.”

“Very well. I have some paperwork and arrangements to make.” The younger woman began gathering her folders and laptop.

“How long have you been with Court, Martha?” Randi hated asking the question, but the two worked so closely, and sometimes the expression on Martha’s face looked a little too…no, Court wouldn’t sleep with his secretary, would he?

Well, Randi herself had acted as his secretary all those years ago, and he’d been sleeping with her. Had he learned his lesson or learned he liked that sort of working relationship? She was tempted to blame the cold chill suddenly filling her on the iced tea at lunch.

“I’ve been with him about seven years. Long enough to know how miserable his marriage was. Poor man, absolutely lost when it finally ended.” Pausing in her work, she sighed, a dreamy gaze in her eyes. “The entire situation was such a mess. He’d filed for divorce, and then she died. The speculation in the papers was bloody awful. I’m just glad I was there for him. We grew close over the whole situation.” The change to a direct gaze aimed at Randi left no question of how Martha expected her to interpret that statement.

“I see.” Randi wasn’t sure she saw what Martha wanted to portray. Working together created its own version of close but didn’t necessarily translate to the sexual realm, and so far, Court hadn’t shown signs of anything beyond a working relationship. Still, the clichés about bosses and secretaries existed for a reason and occurred far too often to discount entirely. She was about to question the other woman further when Martha’s cell phone rang.

Her phone always handy, Martha answered before the second ring. “Yes, Court?”

Well, that was on purpose.

“No, no, I’ll take care of it. No problem. I’ll let her know. Right. Got it.” Martha clicked her phone shut and turned to Randi. “That was Court.”

Randi nodded. “Obviously.”

“This deal is falling apart. He asked me to reschedule your flight home. He won’t be back until late tonight and then will have to fly out immediately. He’s very sorry, and he’ll call you when he can.”

The news was delivered as if discussing what office supplies needed to be ordered, but Martha had a glint in her eyes Randi didn’t trust. It had been obvious from the start she and Martha would never be buddies, but out and out enemies? Surely the woman was smarter than that.

“Don’t let this distress you,” Martha continued. “This happens all the time and is usually why he sticks to professional women who know when to make a discreet exit.”

Now
that
she hadn’t expected and blinked in surprise. “Professional women?”

“Yes, he has contacts with many escort services around the world. Women who are well paid to be interesting companions for rich businessmen.”

Randi’s heart stuttered to a near standstill. It felt as heavy as a lump of granite, but she did her best to hide her feelings from the cold bitch before her. The last had been a hit meant to weaken Randi’s confidence. No way would she let Martha know how close it came to matching things Randi had wondered about. “I see. Well, I still need to make contact with my family. I’ll take care of my own flight arrangements. I presume you can do whatever arranging you need to from your own room.” At least for now, the suite was hers to command.

“Of course. Let me know if I may be of any assistance to you.” Martha picked up her datebook and laptop. “You know how to reach me.”

Randi nodded but didn’t move until the elevator door closed on Martha.

“Ma’am?” Fiske’s courteous inquiry surprised her enough she flinched. Where had he come from?

“Mr. Fiske.” Turning slowly, she hoped she portrayed a solid façade of cool, collected calm.

“I couldn’t help overhearing…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “If you’ll pardon my butting in?”

The man had been nothing but kind to her and regarded her now with a look of fatherly concern. He also took a huge risk by offering a personal opinion. While Court had advised her to treat the man like furniture—but politely—she couldn’t do it. He was a human being in a unique place to observe events and had years of practice doing such. “Please. If you have something to say, I’d love to hear it.”

“I don’t know Mr. Robinson well, but honestly, I’m not sure my image fits with what she just said.”

Randi sighed and gave him a small smile. “I agree with you but, unfortunately, I’ve had some signs that lend just a tiny”—Randi indicated so by nearly pinching her thumb and forefinger together—“bit of credibility to her statements. I admit I don’t trust her much, but she has been very efficient and mostly professional. Especially when she thinks Court is around.” Hands on her hips, she frowned toward the elevator where Martha had just disappeared. “Would she risk a job she clearly loves by giving me information which could easily be checked out?”

“Before you make any rash decisions, perhaps you should give Mr. Robinson a call?”

Warmth from the man’s concern filled her, and she smiled at him. “I was just coming to that very conclusion.”

“Might I get you a pot of tea?”

“Yes. I’d love one.”

“Earl Grey?” He gave her a fond smile.

So he had been watching while Court tried to test her tea knowledge and get her to confess to a favorite. The tea she’d learned to love with Court so long ago had become her favorite again. Each time she drank it with him, a new memory joined the best of the old ones.

Randi laughed. “Found me out did you? Yes, Earl Grey, please.”

“I won’t give you away.” Fiske resumed his dignified butler manner and spun on his heel.

The first call to Court’s phone rolled over to voicemail. Thinking he might temporarily be in a dead zone, she hung up. Two more tries had the same result.

Fiske set down the tea tray beside her at the table and poured out a cup. “No luck yet?”

Randi shook her head.

“Try one more time,” he urged her.

Wondering how much Fiske had observed of the meetings this week, she did as he suggested. Cup lifted to her lips, she inhaled the distinct aroma of the tea as the phone began to ring. She smiled at the butler and took a tiny sip. Court answered his phone as the tea slid down her throat.

“Randi?” The connection was full of static, and for a moment she wondered if it had cut out.

“Court?” She carefully set the delicate bone china cup on its saucer.

“Can’t talk…Marth…arrangements…all made. I…call…soon…as…can.”

“Court, what arrangements?” Closing off one ear with a finger, she listened hard, her small phone pressed tightly against her ear, hoping for some word that didn’t sound exasperated and impatient.

“Talk to Martha,” he repeated sharply. “…has…all details…can’t…helped…” Static burst in her ear a moment before his voice returned. “…go home…talk…soon—”

“Oh, okay.” She bit her lip, not quite believing what she’d heard. “If you say so.” A hint of doubt slipped through, but had he heard it?

“Stiff…lip—” The connection died, along with her hopes and dreams.

So. Martha had instructions to make all the arrangements, and Randi had her orders to go home. Just like that.

Reflexively, she set down her phone and reached for the tea cup, more to pass herself off as the mistress of cool than a need for tea. Didn’t want Fiske to see her crumble to bits right here. However, after a brief sip, her stomach clenched, and the tea turned bitter in her mouth. With a shaking hand, she lowered the cup, which rattled into place on the saucer. So much for handling herself unemotionally.

“I don’t think I want it after all, Mr. Fiske.” Once more the essence of bergamot became poison, and it took all she had to not run to the bathroom and purge.

She would not do this, this falling apart thing. Once was enough for any lifetime, and she never needed to do it again. She was a big girl now and hadn’t expected anything other than a pleasant affair with an old lover. Too easy, she’d once told herself, yet she’d gone and done it. And what did it prove? Only what she’d suspected from the beginning. Taking the easy path had certainly cost her—again. This time the heartache was on her for being seduced into dreaming of more. Well that was that. She’d had her fun, now it was time to go home and leave the past exactly where it belonged. In the past. She had a life, a perfectly good one, and the time had come for her to return to it.

“Ma’am, it was a bad connection…” It had also plainly been loud enough Fiske had overheard every word. “I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding, so many words cut out….”

“No. It was clear enough. The Indispensable Martha has indeed been instructed to make arrangements, apparently for my departure. The words ‘go home’ were quite understandable.”

Ice filled her veins, despite her self-talk, which was ridiculous, because this was exactly what she should have expected all along. Disposable women. Like the socialite downstairs. Well, her own exit would be more dignified. This all made sense in a very twisted way, even if the puzzle pieces didn’t fit exactly at the moment. If she thought about it long enough, the pattern would sort itself into place. Eventually. Maybe.

Court was a powerful, driven man. His marriage had been hellish, it made sense he would turn to women he could spend some time with, then walk away from with no regrets. Hadn’t scientists spent years proving the point that males, particularly the strongest ones, were naturally inclined to propagate the species, making them not naturally monogamous? Hadn’t she personally seen many marriages fall apart because of a husband with wandering ways? Granted, she also knew just as many men who did remain monogamous and faithful. Her neighbors, the Tuckers, were just one such example. Her own marriage to Wyatt, though he’d been into his late thirties when they married. Presumably, he’d worked off his need to sow wild oats by then. Funny, she’d never asked about his previous love affairs.

But with Court, something didn’t entirely add up. He’d come to California and hired a P.I. to find her. Had told Birdie she could contact him at any time. Why would he do any of those things if he were just looking for a loop to close? Those seemed like extreme actions merely for a short affair with a flame from long ago. He’d then arranged a week for time alone for just the two of them. Well, not exactly time alone, though he had been up front about the business involved. Yet, he’d just confirmed Martha had the arrangements, whatever they were, under control, which meant Randi’s orders were to pack up and go home without a fuss. With the earrings and the credit cards as payoff?

Like hell.

Well, lesson learned. Men from the past brought too much baggage with them. Better to be done with it now. At least she’d taken the first crucial inertia-ending step into the dating game again. It should be easier to take the second step as soon as she got home. The next man to offer her a drink would get a smile and a thank you instead of a brush off. Correction, the next attractive man. She wasn’t so desperate after all. She still had her standards and some pride. Even if she had just proved to everyone she could be bought off with a trip and some jewelry. Well, the jewelry she could still give back.